


Popsicle

by novvaturient



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Boys' Love, Innuendo, M/M, Popsicles, Scout being...distracting, Secret Relationship, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novvaturient/pseuds/novvaturient
Summary: Scout finds a popsicle in the freezer of Sniper's camper.
Relationships: Scout & Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	Popsicle

**Author's Note:**

> How to eat a popsicle in a room full of men.

"It's hot..." Scout complained, draped lazily over a battered, green camping chair across from Sniper.

"It's  _ warm." _ Sniper replied, eyes focused on the barrel of his rifle, pushing a cleaning rod through the bore carefully. "Not even close to hot, mate."

The point of the rod came out the other end, the patch almost white. Cleaning his rifle and its components was almost therapeutic, a little routine task he could almost do without thinking. It was relaxing, the weight and feel of the metal familiar in his hands.

A soft breeze swept over both of them, the aforementioned heat nothing but a comfortable warmth to him. Yellowed, dying strands of tall grass swayed lightly, the dried foliage rustling with the movement. Random pieces of dandelion fluff floated in a leisurely manner, carried by the wind to a new location. Early afternoon, the sun was bright overhead, a ball of hot white against hazy blue.

It wasn't comfortable for the Bostonian. The warm temperature to him was an insufferable heat, and the more he thought about it, the hotter it felt. Scout flapped his shirt collar, metal dog tags clinking when they collided with each other, bouncing on his shirt. Sniper looked up briefly at the tinkling noise, smiling at the boy's dramatics. Scout hadn't even been outside that long.

Scout leaned further back in the chair, watching a lone, wispy cloud drift lazily across the clear sky. He squinted against the bright sunlight, adjusting his baseball cap to shade his eyes, boredom gnawing away at him. He shifted restlessly, then turned towards Sniper, watching the older man clean his weapon with practiced movements. The wide brim of his slouch hat was pulled low, casting interesting shadows on the man's face.

"Do ya have anythin' cold?" Scout asked, picking at the frayed canvas of the armrest. He pulled at the dark green strands, loosening the interwoven material until he could see the black metal underneath, effectively ruining the battered chair further. "Like, sumthin' sweet."

Sniper hummed, eyes still focused on his weapon and trying to remember what was stored in the camper. Not much. "Check in the fridge. Might be a soft drink in there."

Scout cheered up visibly at the prospect of a soda. He had a notorious sweet tooth, preferring sodas and sports drinks to actual water, much to Medic's chagrin. That, and he would be annoyingly hyper for the rest of the day, Sniper struggling to keep up with the younger mercenary. He'd usually just let the kid run around until he drained himself, plopping down next to the older man huffily.

Scout slipped off the chair easily, and sauntered to Sniper's camper, dragging his heels through the dry, tawny dirt of the desert. The dust clinging to his shoes made then look more ashen gray than black, the white stripes dirty. He turned the door open and hopped in, tracking dirt onto the vinyl flooring. He left it slightly ajar, hinges creaking as it hung open.

"Bring me a beer!" Sniper called out, a muffled 'okay' coming from inside the camper. He heard Scout rummage around, then the sound of the mini-fridge door swung open, glass bottles inside tinkling with the movement. He heard Scout close it before opening the freezer. A few seconds passed before he shut that too. There was a sudden thump, followed by a muffled curse, then Scout stepped back outside, pushing the door open with his elbow.

"Lookit what I found!" Scout smiled in glee, a popsicle in his left hand and an amber, longneck bottle in the other, the liquid inside sloshing as he walked. "It was hidin' in the backa the freezer."

He placed the beer in the weathered cupholder of Sniper's camping chair, who was busy wetting a patch with solvent. The older man raised an eyebrow when he saw the frozen treat. He had forgotten that was even in there. It was probably a leftover pop from the box Scout had put in the camper's freezer early last year, hiding them from Pyro. The maniac only wanted to melt them.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Sniper couldn't remember if it had been last year or the year before that. "I think that's expired." He said, before returning to his weapon.

Scout looked at the packaging, turning it over, eyes searching for the printed black ink. "It saids '347'." He frowned in thought, his fingers moving one by one as he counted mentally. "Three is April, right? An' we're in..."

"That's the serial number, Scout."

Scout stopped counting. "Right. I knew dat." He plopped down on the camping chair heavily, maneuvering into a comfortable position, his left arm brushing against the polyester canvas. He was practically lying on it, his back halfway on the seat.

"Whatever." Scout muttered. "S'probably fine." It was  _ ice. _Frozen sugary water. As far as he knew, water didn't expire.

He tore through through the plastic wrapper from the wrong end, tossing it to the side where it landed crumpled on the tall, dying grass. Holding the popsicle by the stick, Scout inspected it. A mostly opaque, long bullet shape, with grooves going up the side from the original mold. He turned it over. It looked okay.

He hadn't actually bothered to try and read much of the wrapper, instead choosing to guess the flavor based on the color. The artificial dark blue coloring faded towards the bottom, the cheap dye gradually turning into a light lavender hue before becoming completely transparent, the ice cloudy and white.

"Bet it's fruit punch." He gave a tentative lick. "Nope. Raspberry." Shrugging, he popped it in his mouth, sucking on the tip of it. He settled into the chair, legs over the arm rest and crossed at the ankles. His right arm hung down lazily, twirling a small tuft of grass blades absentmindedly.

The popsicle tasted less like the berry and more like the synthetic flavor of blue. Mildly tart, and far too sweet to be safe. Spinning the wooden stick between his fingers, the icicle rotated in his mouth as he slurped noisily.

Sniper peered down the bore of his rifle, then set it down on his knees and reached for a bottle of solvent. He started to unscrew the cap when he heard the wet sounds, and his grey eyes flicked up to Scout, the noises distracting. He watched Scout's foot bounce, leg jittery, the boy unable to sit still for more than thirty seconds at a time.

Scout looked out to the horizon, trying to find recognizable shapes in the clouds. He slurped loudly, sliding the popsicle further in his mouth, the inside of his lips already tinted blue and wrapped snugly around it.

The ice had started to melt with the warm day, blue colorant trickling down Scout's fingers. He stopped sucking on the pop, tongue darting out to lap up the melted sweetness and swallowed. He licked around the bottom to catch any remaining drops, tongue flat against the ice.

It was...distracting.

Sniper glanced furtively from under the brim of his hat, hoping the aviators hid his eyes, his interest drawn to the movement of the tongue and Scout's mouth. Sniper noticed the center of his tongue was dyed violet blue, the color lining the inside of his lips. He couldn't bring himself to look away, couldn't help but stare at the boy, watching Scout slide the pop into his mouth repeatedly, his lips tight around the smooth ice. He alternated between sucking on the tip and licking the whole thing.

And he was being quite loud while doing so, the wet noises almost obscene. The sight was bringing to mind certain mental images, and Sniper was starting to convince himself the boy was doing it on purpose, just to mess with him.  _ If he deepthroats that thing... _

Looking briefly to the side, Scout caught Sniper's eye, who quickly averted his gaze, pretending he hadn't been watching. He still held the glass bottle of solvent, distractedly wetting another patch.

Scout smiled deviously to himself, his bouncing leg picking up speed, excitement starting to bubble up. He had the man's attention now.

He lapped at the melting drops, then dragged the flat of his tongue from the bottom to the top, purposefully doing it slowly. He repeated the same motion twice before sucking on the tip, wearing the point down to a rounded, blunt top. He could feel his mouth grow colder, tongue just starting to numb as he ran it along the ice. The popsicle halfway in his mouth, Scout dragged his front teeth against it as he slid it out, scraping two crooked grooves along the length of the ice. The cold traveled up the nerves in his teeth, chilling up to his gums.

The warm weather was melting the popsicle rapidly, leaving his fingers sticky and with little trails of blue running down the side of his hand. One drop was moving speedily, already going past his wrist. He'd have to finish it quickly.

He shoved it further down his mouth, lips tight around the long shape, sliding it in and out suggestively. He felt a trickle of melted ice drip down his chin. Half lidded blue eyes flicked back to Sniper's face, who was fixed on the boy's lewd display, rifle abandoned on his lap. He hadn't even opened the beer, the bottle forgotten and warming in the sun, watching Scout.

Scout grinned, the pop still in his mouth, glad he had succeeded in distracting the older man. He slid the entire pop into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, similar to the way he did with Sniper, the cold tip almost reaching the back of his tongue. He was careful not to push it too far into his throat, trying not to gag on it. Fully aware of Sniper's eyes on him, he rotated it a few times before pulling it out slowly, lips tight around it. He made a point of making wet slurping sounds, trying to elicit a response from the older man. He slid it out completely, a tiny string of tinted saliva stretching from the tip of the popsicle to his lips.

Then the ice slid off the wooden stick, melting apart and falling onto Scout's chest. 

"No!" He shrieked, the entire popsicle falling apart. _ "Shit..." _ Popping the wooden stick in his mouth quickly to free his hands, he tried to scoop up the broken pieces, the melted sugar sticky and wet.

The artificial dye immediately began to color his shirt, damp pools of dark violet forming beneath the pieces of ice. He flicked off small bits, palms sticky and blue, his attempt at wiping it off only making more of a mess. "Great," he groaned, the wooden stick between his teeth. "Tha's gonna stain."

"Good," Sniper snickered, going back to his abandoned rifle. "That's what you get for distracting me, ya cheeky little bastard."

Scout tossed the rest of the pieces on the grass, wiping his hands on his jeans. He sat up, pulling at his shirt. The liquid had seeped through the fabric, and he wrinkled his nose at the uncomfortable, cold damp against his chest.

"I'm gonna go wash this off." He mumbled, and walked over to the camper quickly, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. He could probably make do and rinse his shirt in the sink, but he was fairly sure the coloring would stain permanently regardless.

"And I'm gettin' another one!" He yelled from inside, purposefully letting the door slam shut. To his disappointment, it bounced off the doorframe, the hinges complaining.

Sniper chuckled, setting his rifle down on the grass before following Scout into the camper. On the steps, he threw a quick glance behind him, scanning the field before stepping inside and locking the door behind him. Scout was going to put that mouth of his to a better use.

**Author's Note:**

> Had to look up how to clean a rifle. And I also learned the history of the blue raspberry flavor. And! 'Bastard' can be a term of endearment to Aussies. The things you learn researching for a fanfic, only for it to appear in like, two sentences.


End file.
